Sacrifice
by Riley
Summary: Star of the Guardians. Sagan/Maigrey (who else?) An AU end to King's Sacrifice in which a fate worse than death turns out better than it has any right to.


Disclaimer: Margaret Weis owns them; I'm just borrowing.   
  


Sacrifice 

The monstrous creatures rushed forward--- 

Sagan interposed his body between Maigrey and the monsters, held her close. 

In his hand, he held the silver dagger. The same blade as in his vision. The sacrifice for his brutal bloodlust, the mad desire for revenge that had driven him to a vow he didn't mean. 

No choice left to him. 

Or... was there? 

He looked down at her, at her horrified expression. 

Not his choice at all. His choice had brought them here... but hers must be the final decision. 

"Maigrey," he whispered. "There's still a choice... still a... chance." 

She stared at him in disbelief. "What choice?" 

He cradled her against him. "This---" he held up the dagger. "Ask, and I'll do it. But there's another way---" 

Her eyes on his were wide, desperate. "How---" 

"Let me take you away--- somewhere safe, somewhere hidden, where you can do no one any harm---" 

"To live my life as what--- a mad hermit---" 

He cursed himself; she'd misunderstood him. He never _could_tell her what he was feeling... thinking, even, sometimes. His tortured childhood had left him desperately protective of what little of himself he'd owned. "No--- no, not at all." He swallowed. "I'd be with you--- I'd stay with you, for as long---" his voice broke. 

She stared at him still, but the horror in her eyes was now sympathetic. "You'd... you know what I'll become... and you would... subject yourself to _that_?" She shuddered violently. 

He knew. He knew that she was doomed to become a ravening fiend, bloodthirsty, cruel, sadistic. Knew that, like any wild beast, if caged, she would turn her frenzy on her captor. 

He stroked her hair back from her face. "It would be the greatest honor of my life," he whispered. 

Because he couldn't bear the thought of life without her. Better to be tortured by a madwoman than to be utterly... _alone._

He'd been alone for most of the first fifteen years of his life. It wasn't the first time he'd subjected himself to pain and humiliation as an alternative to loneliness. 

At least Maigrey... somewhere inside... would still love him. 

A horrible thing, really, to ask of her. That she stay by him, even as she went mad... just so that he didn't have to be alone. 

But it wasn't his choice to make. 

"The decision is yours, my lady," he said softly. 

And waited.   
  
  
  


*****   
  


Maigrey looked up at him in disbelief. This was an option she'd never considered. When she'd felt the first sting of the cut on her arm, she'd known then how Derek's vision would come to pass. 

She'd never imagined the possibility of such a choice. Never thought of such a life as being possible. 

He could do it. If any man alive could, Derek Sagan could. 

And... God help her... she _wanted_ it. 

Wanted to punish him for what he'd done to her--- for the torment of self-doubt and indecision, for the loss of friends, of her honor... now of her sanity. This was his fault--- shouldn't he have to pay the price? The serpent's tooth made of its victim a murderous beast. She could inflict on him all the torments she'd dreamed of in her long years in exile... without one shred of guilt. After all, she couldn't help herself... and he _had_offered. 

Yet he was not the only guilty party. She felt the scar on her face pull and tingle. Eighteen years ago she'd stood flat-footed and let him strike her down... because she _deserved_ it. Deserved the punishment. And she'd hurt him worse than that since... taking the silver armor... leaving him behind on Laskar while she hid from her own selfishness.... And now this final injury. 

What worse punishment could _she_ suffer? Death was too good a fate for what she had done. Let him handle her as he liked. Let her suffer the agonies of knowing she'd become a monster. 

She put her hands to his face. 

And whispered, "I choose life."   
  


*****   
  


Sagan closed his eyes in bitter relief. 

He set the dagger aside; it served no purpose now. 

When the monsters came to take her, Sagan kept her close. Even as they drew her to them, he remained by her side. 

Even when she emerged from their ranks, her eyes febrile and her lips twisted in a snarl, he would not turn away. 

He went to her, heard her mocking laughter like a scourge on his soul... and clasped her in his arms. She fought him, cursing him in words that would scar his soul till the day he died... but still he held her. 

And vowed to himself that he'd never let go.   
  


*****   
  


Sagan came to himself in the cold and darkness of a barren world. Maigrey lay in his arms, as in the vision. 

And, as in the vision, she fought him, reached out to scratch at his face with hands like claws. "Let me go, damn you to hell--- let me go---" She spat in his face, tried to twist to her feet. 

He got his arms around her, crushed her against his chest. She struggled, furiously, with fevered strength, but he simply outmuscled her, let her thrash herself into exhaustion in the circle of his arms. 

Finally, she was quiet, leaning against him, panting harshly. He stroked her hair gently. "That's better, isn't it?" he murmured, as one would to an overexcited child. 

Because the woman he loved still lived within the body of this rabid harpy. He could never allow himself to forget that. It was for _Maigrey_ that he was doing this. To give her some kind of life--- the life that he would have taken from her. 

And, selfishly, cruelly, for himself--- to keep her by him in whatever form he could have her. Because, God help him, he'd rather die himself than live without her. 

And for a long time he held her trembling form in his arms, while she whined and struggled feebly, exhausted... and he looked ahead to the future they faced. 

It was the only life he could offer her: to take her away from the rest of the galaxy, to keep her isolated, someplace where her increasingly depraved desires could harm no one but himself. And, in her moments of lucidity, to cradle her and love her and give no sign of his own suffering, but only soothe her pain. 

That was life; that was all the life that was left to them. Maigrey looked up at him, her grey eyes for the moment clear and lucid. "I'm sorry, my lord," she whispered gently. "Mine is the easy part." 

He kissed her forehead. "There is no easy part, my lady; we've taken the harder road---" 

She smiled wryly, reaching up a hand to touch his face. "'Two together must walk the paths of darkness---'" 

"'To reach the light,'" he finished. "Paths of darkness indeed, my lady." 

"It was my choice," she whispered. "_Mine."_ Her eyes grew sad. "Though I see no light." 

He couldn't argue _that_ one with her. So instead he held her for long moments, cradled her to him and kissed her and stroked her soft pale hair--- until her eyes glazed over and she started to twist in his embrace once more, snarling a vicious challenge. 

His life. For the rest of it.   
  


*****   
  
  
  


He carried her in his arms back to the plane, ignoring her struggles and screams of fury. She bit him sometimes, on the shoulder and the neck; sometimes tried to tear at him with her nails. 

On board the plane, she relaxed a little. "Where are we going?" Her voice was husky, harsh. 

"You'll see," he said gently, as he would to a child--- as he might have to _her_ as a child. He set her down firmly in one of the passenger seats, pinned her with his greater weight, leaning against her, and started to strap her in. 

She fought him at that. "You're going to lock me up somewhere, aren't you--- all your promises were lies! You're nothing but a self-serving sadist---" 

"Coming from you at the moment, that's almost funny." He finished strapping her in, methodically, her arms and legs bound with clamps to the seats. "This is for your own safety," he said gently, stroking her hair back from her face--- then drawing his hand back fast as she tried to bite him. He sighed. "If you insist---" And got hold of the forehead strap and pinned her with that as well. 

The only weapon left to her was words, and she used those with consummate skill, heaping abuse and insults on him at the top of her lungs, finding all the cracks in his emotional armor that only she knew. "Bastard---" she hissed; that one word alone, from her, had the power to cut him, and she knew it. 

Harsh laughter. "If you hadn't been--- acceptable--- in bed, I never would have tolerated you as long as I did---" Grey eyes gleamed feverishly, as she spat out the worst nightmares from his own mind, all those buried insecurities that she alone could access. "At that, you were lucky you got me as young as you did--- an _experienced_ woman never would have---" 

He turned from her and made his way down to the cockpit in grim and patient silence.   
  


*****   
  
  
  


He got the plane off the ground, then laid in a course. 

He had the perfect place to take her... yes, perfect. Ironic, in fact--- the worst penance, perhaps, of all. 

In the cabin above, Maigrey had finally lost her voice; he could hear her dull raspy breathing... and feel the incoherent heat of her thoughts through the link. She wasn't coherent enough to shoot insults at him that way, thank God... but the sullen rabid fever of her mind was pain enough for him. 

He made the Jump, then leaned back in his chair, remembering. 

Once, back before the revolution, they had crashed together on a deserted planet far from civilization. The Lane they'd taken was one of the relics of Lasarion's building spree, one of those that essentially led nowhere... except to a little planet that had very little to offer anyone. 

Except peace. And beauty. And solitude. 

They'd stayed there over a week, trying to get the planes working... some of the time. But mostly, they had reveled in the simple luxury of being together, far from everything else in the galaxy. It had been _their_ place, the one thing that they'd had that no one else could take from them. Even the mind-link was the subject of such intense scrutiny and controversy that he at least had never been able to revel in the simple luxury of belonging to someone. 

That was a thing he'd never had--- just to be someone else's, and to be wanted. 

That week of peace hadn't been enough to hold them together. He'd learned that... too late. 

But in the weeks before the revolution, he'd thought it would be... and planned accordingly. 

It had required all the resources he could lay hands on, an no little subterfuge... but he had managed it. It had taken the work crews the entirety of the month before the revolution, working round the clock... but they'd completed it. 

He'd been there once... to the house he'd designed for them, on that isolated little world. Their refuge, a place to escape when the pressures of power grew too much. Something just for them... after all, the leaders of the revolution would have been entitled to a few luxuries. 

That was how he'd planned it, at any rate. And when his plan failed, he had gone there... intending to burn the house to the ground. Fire--- the most basic destroyer and cleanser. 

But he hadn't; had left it standing. Because as long as he did that, he could cherish the dream that someday she would return to him and he could bring her to their home. 

To that end, he'd set it on a monthly upkeep cycle, programmed the house system to alert him if anything had gone wrong. And, just after Maigrey had left the _last_ time, he'd gone to see the place himself. 

He'd considered bringing her back, then... coming to her at the Academy and asking, God help him, for just one chance to show her what he'd wanted to offer. 

He wished now that he had. Too late.... 

Two wishes, contradicting themselves. He had paid the price to escape from one of them... and now his other wish was granted... in the darkest way possible. 

Their home would indeed become a refuge. A place to hide together from the outside world. 

Oh yes... a place to hide. 

The place was entirely self-sufficient, relying on cloning chambers and hydroponics gardens and solar energy. What, after all, was the good of a hideaway if you had to have a supply ship come in once a month to disturb you? 

He leaned forward abruptly, remembering what else that house held. Maigrey had always loved ancient weaponry; he'd collected some of the best examples in the galaxy, true museum pieces, for her. Things which as a matter of course she could no longer be allowed to have. If she cut him to pieces, she'd likely starve; he wasn't sure she could operate the hydroponics equipment--- or even give coherent commands to the house system--- in her present state. 

Sagan tapped his finger on the console, considering. Yes... that was the best solution. 

He typed in a series of coded commands, sent them ahead to the computer system that powered the house. The robots that served as house staff would pack away the weaponry, seal it in a pod. When they arrived, the 'bots would load it onto the ship, and he could send it off to one of the artifact hunters who'd found most of his collection for him. 

He'd planned to send the shuttle into the sun of that system; they couldn't risk having any means for Maigrey to leave. Once there, they'd be there for life. But this was tidier, and saved a perfectly usable piece of equipment from destruction. He hated waste. 

He thought for a second, added another command. The 'bots had better remove anything breakable as well... indeed, anything precious. He rather suspected that she'd take especial delight in destroying anything he considered valuable. Denied the simpler atrocities of mass violence, she'd have to turn her hand to subtler cruelties. He didn't want to give her ammunition. 

The house would be stripped practically bare... but at least it would be theirs, a place to take whatever peace they could find. 

The heat in his mind that was _her_ grew soft then and quiet--- a moment of lucidity. Quick as thought, he was up the ladder to the living quarters... to comfort her. 

And to take what comfort he could from her as well.   
  
  
  


*****   
  
  
  


The planet was a world of water and mountains and ground soft like sand. 

When they'd come here together--- the first and only time they'd shared the place--- they'd slept out under the stars most nights. He could still feel her shivering form nestle into his side for warmth... among other things.... 

Well, there'd be no more of that. It was enough that he could keep her safe here. He could only imagine what nightmares she'd make of lovemaking. 

Maigrey was in a particularly frenzied state; he'd had to tie her down again. On good days, he'd been able to let her walk about the living area a little--- though that usually resulted in a scuffle; she invariably tried to go for the ship's controls or his throat. An actual fight with her was a bad idea; she still retained a certain reflexive knowledge of unarmed combat... and the act of battle seemed to rouse her to greater frenzy. 

It delighted her actually; something in which he could afford to indulge her once they'd safely landed. But for now--- on board the plane, for the love of God--- he couldn't take the risk she'd actually disable him and get to the controls. So he'd simply catch her and hold her with his greater weight and let her wear herself out struggling with him. 

There was a certain bitter pleasure in it. At least he could hold her. And when she was finally exhausted, she'd sometimes rest in his arms for a little, until she recovered her strength. That was enough for him. He didn't much mind her cruelty, really; it was easier to understand than the affection she used to show him. He'd always rather wondered why she bothered.... 

She forgot to eat sometimes, and sometimes seemed confused by the whole process, which required that he put her on an IV drip. Horrible act, that, but necessary... and better at least than force-feeding... which he also had to do sometimes. The IV gave nutrients, but not bulk, and her body mass plummeted frighteningly when he first put her on the IV until in a few short days she was nearly a skeleton. The changes the poison made to her brain chemistry had affected her metabolism as well. 

He'd had to tranquilize her in the end to get the tube down. And had seriously considered putting her on tranks as a steady diet... then dismissed the idea as both cruel and stupid. She'd lose her lucid moments as well that way... and if and when they ever ran out of the medicines, she'd be twice as violent if not worse. 

It seemed too cruel to tie her down at night--- but he could hardly leave her loose to get her hands on the controls. So he'd hold her, pinned underneath him, while she slept. She usually did, too, after the obligatory wrestling match. It was probably just a stupid fancy on his part, but he liked to think that his presence and touch relaxed her a little, at least sometimes. 

And sometimes, he'd come out of the trance he used in place of sleep, to find her grey eyes clear on his and her gentle cool fingers caressing his cheek or tangling in his hair. And he would sigh and clasp her close and murmur something soft and soothing and meaningless into the tangle of her hair, and treasure the moment or two of relief he found even as he reassured her gently that no, he didn't mind, and yes, it was all right... there was nothing for her to apologize for.... 

Well, now that they were here, he could probably give her a little more freedom. He'd have to confine them both to the house, of course, for her own safety--- God knew what would happen if she wandered off by herself!--- but the house itself should be safe for her now. 

He got her untied, while she taunted him and tried to twist free of his grasp. He'd learned her tricks in the weeks it had taken them to get here, though, and simply dodged the clawing fingers and asked, mildly, "Would you rather I simply left you here to rot?" 

He never spoke harshly to her. It wasn't, after all, her fault. 

It was his. He could never let himself forget that. Not for a moment. 

His remark earned him a fresh torrent of insults... but she sat still under his touch and let him unfasten the restraints. 

And, of course, once free, she tried to get away from him. He caught her firmly and pinned her to the deck and let her thrash against him until she couldn't move and her breath came in sniveling sobs. 

And then he picked her up and carried her outside. He noted with approval the 'bots carrying out their appointed task, hauling antigrav lifts full of artifacts to the plane. 

Maigrey, cradled in his arms like a ragdoll, looked around her dully. "This place looks _boring_," she pouted. 

"I'm sure you'll find ways to amuse yourself." He kissed her forehead. Easiest, really, just to treat her like a fretful spoiled child... that was, after all, all she really was now, since he'd removed any opportunity for her to do harm to anyone... anyone but himself. 

Maigrey looked up at him, smiling horribly, her eyes gleaming cruelly. "Oh, I'm sure I will." 

Sagan sighed, tiredly. New ways to torment him, she meant. 

Well, it would at least pass the time. 

Besides, he'd had worse. Maigrey at least still loved him, when she was sane. And she wasn't strong enough to do real damage to him, not physically. For the rest... it didn't much matter. He'd never really thought he deserved her affection anyway. 

He carried her into the house and got them safely sealed in before she'd recovered enough strength to fight again. 

This time he sparred with her, let her vent her frenzy in violent attacks... in fact let her draw blood a few times, which seemed to delight her no end. And when the frenzy wore her out and she slumped on the floor exhausted, he picked her up and cradled her against him, while she called him a sentimental fool and a weakling and a thousand other epithets.... 

Until suddenly the grey eyes cleared, and she looked around her. "Oh, Derek... this house... was for us, wasn't it?" 

"It still is," he said gently. "We're here together, aren't we?" 

The grey eyes filled with tears that spilled down her cheeks; he kissed them away. After all, she was entitled to a few tears. "Hush, now," he said gently. "You're safe here. There's no one here but us, and nothing that can be damaged beyond repair--- you don't have to worry about doing any harm to anything." 

"Except to you." She stroked his face gently. "Derek, I---" 

"Hush," he said again, gently. "You're here with me--- that's all I need." 

"I won't be for long." She shuddered. 

He kissed her forehead. "It doesn't matter, Maigrey--- the... frenzies... don't matter. Only this---" he kissed her again, this time on the mouth--- "matters." 

"Liar." She rubbed her cheek against his chest. "I'm cutting you to the bone, aren't I?" 

Odd note in her voice when she said that; he didn't bother to analyze it. After all, he could hardly expect normalcy from a woman under the power of the serpent's tooth, could he? He couldn't let himself take anything too much to heart... even in her lucid moments, she needed freedom from scrutiny and judgment... perhaps especially then. "You're not responsible. Don't hate yourself for it--- such a little thing---" 

She sighed deeply. "No... not my fault, is it?" 

"Not at all." And then he kissed her and cuddled her for a few moments more... until she began to twist restlessly in his arms and her eyes glazed over again. 

She didn't start by attacking him... not physically. "You're a useless fool." 

Blatant provocation, that. He stayed still and silent, waiting passively for her next action. It was all he could do. 

"You could never have done it," she said, her voice rasping like sandpaper. "Never rid yourself of me--- not even on _Phoenix_, when you had me completely in your power. You were always too weak---" 

"Perhaps," he said mildly, "it took more strength to live with you... and with myself." 

She laughed, horribly. "You would say that, wouldn't you--- you've always got an answer for everything!" And she struck at him, not in fury, he rather thought, but simply because it pleased her to hit him. 

He took the blows, calmly; he'd had far worse. 

She exhausted herself more quickly this time, and he carried her up to the master bedroom--- which he was pleased to find stripped bare of everything but the furniture, as he'd programmed--- and locked her in... while he inspected the house to make certain it was equally safe for her. 

The modifications had been carried out as he'd ordered. The house was stripped nearly down to the basics of furniture and a few other comforts; the control system was keyed only to his command, and the 'bots had orders to restrain her if she started any real damage. The hydroponics gardens and the cloning tanks for meats and animal products and the assorted food-preparation systems were in working order. 

It was... satisfactory. He could relax at least a little now. They were safe here. She couldn't do any damage with her frenzies--- nothing for her to feel guilty over in her sane moments, nothing with which to reproach herself--- and they could stay here in safety for the rest of their lives.   
  


*****   
  


Their life together settled into a routine, varied only by Maigrey's erratic bursts of clarity and the intensity of her frenzies. 

For the first few nights, he let her wander around loose as she pleased... only to find her shivering and exhausted on the floor somewhere, collapsed wherever her frenzied energy had given out--- or to wake suddenly with her hands... or her teeth... on his throat. 

So he went back to the same routine he'd used on the ship, carrying her to bed and pinning her under him until she slept. There was probably another way to do it, he reflected... but nothing that worked so well for _both_ sides of her. Even in what he thought of as her frenzy-state, she didn't seem to mind his body pressed to hers... but she _hated_ inanimate restraints. And he didn't trust drugging her; Maigrey going through withdrawal would be a true nightmare. To say nothing of the moments when he would come out of his sleeping-trance to find her, clear-eyed and quiet, clinging to him gratefully. 

Mornings, he always woke before she did--- he set his mental alarm based on her REM cycles. It allowed him a few minutes to hold her in peace before the day began. 

Sometimes, there were a few precious moments after she woke, when she was still lucid, when she'd nestle into his arms and offer soft apologetic caresses and murmurs. And he would cuddle her and soothe her. Sometimes there was enough time that they could trade backrubs perhaps, or go beyond the shared soothing and have a few minutes of real conversation. 

He lived for those times. It made the rest endurable. 

Because always too soon, her eyes would glaze over, fever-bright, and she would begin to snarl curses and insults at him, scratching and tearing his flesh with nails and teeth. He was always all over scabs and bruises from her attentions. 

He'd pick her up and dump her in the hot-tub in the bathroom; if he didn't, she tended to ignore niceties like hygiene. He might have ignored it likewise... except that Maigrey, in her lucid moments, made it clear that she wanted it otherwise. 

Indeed, most of the restraints he imposed on her during her poison-induced frenzies were for her sake--- for the sake of the woman he loved, forced to relinquish her body to the control of a madwoman. In her lucid moments, she felt better if she knew that the worst of her madness was kept under control. For himself, he might have been inclined to permit the madwoman greater license... but for Maigrey, he'd restrain her. 

He'd join her in the tub and hold her down long enough to get her clean from head to toe. Sometimes the ministrations and the hot water relaxed her; more often then not she tried to drown him, laughing sadistically while she struggled with him. 

After that, he'd get her out of the tub and dressed--- another attempt to soothe the woman he loved who lived inside this wild thing. If he didn't dress her, she went around naked with complete indifference... until her lucid moments. Anything complicated was out of the question, but he could usually at least get her covered decently. If he could manage that task without more than one or two wrestling matches, it was a good day. 

Once she was dressed, he'd get her out of the bedroom and let her go. She usually wandered about for a few minutes, trying to find something to vent her frustrations on--- which gave him time enough to dress and eat something... before she came back to him. 

One of the ironies of their twisted relationship--- when he held her, she fought and struggled and cursed him; yet when he let her go her own way, she invariably returned to his side. He remarked on that irony frequently, in the low soft voice he always used in talking with her. 

She took rich delight in tormenting him--- "You wanted me so much... now you have me!" was the usual theme, along with assorted insults, mostly to his masculinity. Sometimes she cursed him for not having killed her... sometimes, for not having had his way with her. Sometimes she attacked him; he sparred with her enough to exhaust the worst of the frenzy... which usually left her quiescent if not lucid. Which was a relief to _both_ of them. 

She usually followed him about, taunting and insulting and assaulting him, while he moved about the house. Sometimes he read--- from a monitor; the bound books were another set of artifacts he'd had to send away; in her lucid moments, she'd have despised herself for destroying them. More often he simply sat someplace and kept an eye on her while she vented her rage on anything in reach. 

Music seemed to help her a little; the house system was programmed for both their favorites. She particularly liked Vangelis... though he rather suspected that preference was because of the pain it brought him to hear their squadron's music... not to mention some of the other pieces. "I'll Find My Way Home," despite its childish simplicity, nearly broke his heart, when he considered what this place _should_ have been for them... and "So Long Ago, So Clear" was bittersweet at best. Predictably, those were her favorites. 

One of the few places in the house she considered _interesting_ during her frenzy-states was the exercise room. It had been designed with absolute safety in mind--- all fixed weights and padding and automatic force fields, and a fully equipped automated medical facility adjacent to it. She could vent her destructive urges to the hilt here, slamming her fists into things or trying to throw the weights on their tethers, seeming to enjoy herself immensely. Sometimes he brought her there when nothing else would calm her. Water seemed to help, too--- a good dunking in the bath or the swimming pool sometimes calmed her down. 

And, sometimes, nothing helped and she would rage and storm and strike him and herself in an orgy of brutality. Her frenzies sometimes entered the realm of pure obscenity; he tried not to think about some of the incidents she'd inflicted on him. The cleaning 'bots were kept quite busy on occasion... though he never allowed them to handle her person. That was his task, whether dressing the wounds she inflicted on herself or cleaning her of her own filth. 

The matter of food was something of a trial as well. She'd developed something of a goiter and found it genuinely hard to swallow, which meant mostly liquid foods, or at worst force-feedings and IV's. And a great deal of both, appallingly enough--- the frenzies seemed to eat her alive. She was always thirsty, usually hungry... which made the goiter that much more of a torment. The hunger made the frenzies worse when she couldn't manage to swallow. 

She had lucid periods throughout most days, though--- peaceful times when he could gather her into his arms and cuddle her and let her take some kind of relief from their closeness. He was always at pains to dispose quickly of the evidence of her worst attacks of monstrosity; though her mind was at all times conscious of the monster she'd become, he tried to make those brief periods of calm as soothing, even pleasant, for her as possible. He was at pains to reassure her that he didn't mind anything she did... which, really, he didn't. She was there; he wasn't alone. He had something to offer her. There wasn't much more he could ask of life. 

The best of those times involved one of the few "artifacts" he'd been able to keep here--- more a luxury than an artifact in truth. The huge leather chair in the den had been designed for one of the more innocent pleasures they'd shared--- indeed, the first affection that had ever passed between them. The first night they'd been mind-linked, she'd crawled up eleven stories of dormitory wall to his room... and come and cuddled on his lap. 

It had been the first time he could remember being touched without pain. 

It was a form of closeness they repeated even after they'd moved on to more adult pleasures; even as a grown woman, she still loved to be held and cuddled on his lap. The last time she'd done it had been a month before the revolution: the night before he'd left, she'd come to him and nestled in his arms for a long time, her head against his shoulder... as if she'd known better than he had what would become of them. 

That had also been the last time they'd made love.... 

_That_ was a pleasure best denied them; he wasn't sure how she'd react to sex if she came out of her lucid phase during the act. But any reaction she could have would likely appall both of them. 

But the other pleasure of simple closeness... that they could have in safety. As often as possible, her lucid moments were spent in that chair, with her curled up in his lap, nuzzling her head under his chin and burrowing against his chest for safety. And he'd hold her close and stroke her back and breathe in the scent of her skin and thank God that he was allowed this much of her. 

Night couldn't usually come soon enough for him; though she was insomniac, the incredible strain her body and mind were under could sometimes combine to exhaust her. He was shameless about using her vices against her and let her drink herself unconscious on more than one occasion; the hydroponics unit could manage distillates, so there was a ready supply of her chosen vice. But drunk or sober, a little after nightfall he carried her back up to the bedroom every night. 

If she were sober, she fought him, of course--- a new round of bruises and bitemarks to add to what he got during the day. At that point, he'd usually dump her in the bath again, not so much for cleaning but in the hope it would calm her a little. 

After which, he'd get her into bed and pin her down with his weight and let her exhaust herself against him, until finally she slept under him. 

And for a little while, he would lie awake and stroke her hair and devour the peaceful calm. 

Because... God help him... there was a part of him that _enjoyed_ it. Enjoyed the absolute control he exercised over her. Positively reveled in the right to pin her under him and crush her. 

And reveled likewise in the abuse she heaped on him... because he deserved it; it was punishment for the pleasures of control and domination that he had no right to enjoy over her. That was why he let her free so often--- because he _couldn't_allow himself to become addicted to it. 

One of them had to stay at least a little sane. 

If he'd ever been. He was actually rather content with the situation, he supposed. The abuse was, after all, at least familiar. Easier to accept the cruelty than the affection she showed him sane. He was used to trading pain for attention--- that was the bargain he'd grown up with. And he'd never really been sure why she'd bothered so much with him--- the mind-link certainly wasn't enough to explain it... not when he'd have done anything for her no matter how she treated him. There just wasn't anybody else _there_ in his life_._

It wasn't so bad, the frenzies. He simply treated her like an hysterical child: let her wear herself out when possible, held her down as gently as he could--- as her adult strength and skill would allow--- when she'd otherwise hurt herself. Talked to her in a quiet voice, never lost his temper. He'd abrogated that right long ago--- when his prayer for her death had damned her to this fate. 

Here, he could belong to her. Just shut out the world and devote himself entirely to her needs. 

That, at least, was like the dream he'd had for this place.   
  


*****   
  


A few months after they'd settled in, the... visitors... began arriving. 

Admiral Aks was first; he had been the only person who knew about this place. It had been necessary, he'd thought at the time, to have someone who could find them--- after all, two of the galaxy's leaders could hardly remain out of touch in an emergency! 

So it was natural, he supposed, that Aks would think to look for them here when they disappeared. 

When the sensor scan told him the ship was approaching, he knew a moment of panic. What in God's name could he do with Maigrey while they had a guest? And the shuttlecraft... dear God, the shuttle... she could steal it. Right now, there was no reason for anyone in the galaxy to care what became of them; he was her only victim, and a willing one at that. But if she were allowed loose on the galaxy.... 

He knew how _that_ would end. He'd have to be the one to hunt her down, God help him. And after what she'd likely do... he'd be allowed no choice but to kill her. 

He forced himself to think. Yes... his tendency for paranoia had paid off. He could lock her in the nuclear shelter under the house. It was fitted for two people for a month... really as comfortable as the rest of the house, given that they had none of the artifacts any more--- just the comforts of the body rather than those of the mind and soul. The shelter provided the former as well as the house did. He could put her there in safety. 

Which was exactly what he did by the time Aks' ship landed.   
  


*****   
  


He met Aks on the landing pad outside the house--- it wasn't safe to have visitors inside, even with Maigrey locked away. She was clever still; if she got loose.... 

What remained of the woman he loved would never forgive either of them for the horrors she'd commit if she were loosed on an unsuspecting galaxy. 

He'd worn his armor for the occasion; the unfamiliar weight settled oddly against his body. Since they'd come here, he'd worn mostly whatever came to hand. Maigrey certainly didn't notice. 

The hatch opened, and Aks, moving stiffly, came down the ramp. "My lord---" 

"What is it, Aks?" Amazing how old habits came back so easily; he'd spoken as if the admiral had interrupted him in his quarters on _Phoenix_. 

Aks blinked, surprised--- then drew himself up; surprising show of spine, really. "My lord, when you and the lady didn't return to _Phoenix_ following the..." he gestured limply with one hand. 

"Yes." Sagan folded his arms, waiting. Strange to hear another human voice... he'd never much been comfortable with conversation--- with any human exchange, really--- and the time he'd spent here had left him utterly out of the habit of communication. 

Aks coughed. "When you failed to return even after the battle---" The man's patience seemed to break. "Damn it, my lord--- we were worried about you!" 

Sagan blinked in surprise... felt a smile stretch lips unused to such exercise. Aks' outburst was a pleasant change from the routine he'd lived with Maigrey. "Indeed... and who exactly is this 'we' you mentioned?" 

Aks looked as if he'd run into a stone wall. "His Majesty, of course... and---" another cough--- "General Dixter asked about the lady---" 

Sagan knew the first moment of real pleasure he'd had in... a long time. So Dixter was worried about Maigrey. Good. Let him worry... let him wonder. She was _his_ now, completely, as much as remained of her... and he'd defy his would-be rival to offer her any more of a life than Sagan could. _Dixter_ would never have survived this. 

Perhaps something of his thoughts showed on his face; Aks' expression softened. "What happened, my lord?" he asked quietly. 

Sagan looked at the admiral, at his furrowed brow and the concern in his eyes. 

For a moment, Sagan flashed back to his first assignment as a pilot--- a young man of seventeen... who'd needed desperately to prove himself worthy of a certain little warrior princess.... Aks, then a captain, had been Sagan's first commander.... 

He pulled himself back to the present... and decided that Aks deserved to know. "The serpent's tooth, Aks. My lady was... wounded." 

The admiral regarded him uncomprehendingly for a moment... then the light dawned. "My God, my lord!" 

Sagan nodded quietly; for a moment, he couldn't speak. 

But Aks... understood. Aks had always understood... better than Sagan gave him credit for, mostly. "And you've... taken care of her... all this time? Six months---" 

_Six months_. Dear God, had it really been that--- 

Sagan got control of himself. "What else could I do?" 

Aks nodded. "I'll explain to His Majesty." 

Explain... run interference... as he'd always done. Again, Sagan flashed back to the time when he'd been a squadron leader aboard Aks' ship.... 

How old had he been? Twenty, twenty-one? He'd gotten himself shot half to pieces in some firefight... and Maigrey, twelve years old and spoiled as rotten as Sagan and her father between them could manage, had taken it in her head to show up unannounced, convinced that her _partner_needed her. Never mind the scandal of a twelve-year-old princess parking herself stubbornly at his bedside and holding fast to his hand. 

Or what would have been a scandal... if Aks hadn't intervened. Sagan never knew precisely what the man had done--- he was unconscious for most of it and Maigrey's recollection was only that she had been allowed to stay with him. Somehow, Aks had made that arrangement acceptable... and made further arrangements for Maigrey to remain on board the _Defender_, Aks' ship. 

Yes, Aks had understood... better than most of the Blood Royal had understood. And more... he'd accepted it. 

Sagan met Aks' eyes. "Thank you." It was the least he could say... for everything. 

And Aks... understood. "Thank _you_, my lord." 

Silence; then Aks asked, "Is there anything I can do?" 

Sagan shrugged. "You've done... more than enough."   
  


*****   
  


After Aks left, Sagan went back inside, changed out of his armor, and went down to the cellar. 

And thought, seriously, for a moment, about leaving his lady right where she was for a little while. A few blessed moments of quiet--- 

Which weren't really quiet--- the dull hot thrum in his mind attested to _that_ fact. She was with him no matter what. 

And it wasn't her fault. He had no right to make her suffer for something she couldn't help--- for his own weaknesses. 

He unlocked the door, went inside. 

He'd left the lights on full, so that she wouldn't have to endure her confinement in the dark; it was easy to locate her. She was slumped in a corner, in a pool of vomit and worse; she'd made herself sick with hysteria when he locked her up. She looked up at him, her eyes fever-bright and glassy, and tried to scramble to her feet--- 

Her knees were too weak, or perhaps she slipped in her own filth. She fell back to the floor, panting and sobbing. "You--- you--- you---" Fortunately, she couldn't get breath enough to curse him. 

He considered his options. It would be a mess to get her back up to their bedroom--- 

Well, that was what the 'bots were for. He picked her up out of the mess she'd made, and carried her, ignoring her struggles, up the stairs to the master bathroom, and dumped her, half-torn caftan, hysterical sobbing, and all, into the hot water. 

She screeched at that, beating at him with her fists; he ignored her enough to get the filthy garment over her head, then held her under while the tub's recycling system washed the filth away. 

And then he got out of his own clothing and into the tub with her, and washed her all over, carefully and gently. 

She struggled at first, then the heat in his mind faded to cool remorse... she was sane for a little. She leaned back against him. "Oh, Derek... I'm so sorry---" 

"Hush." He kissed her temple, resumed kneading soap through the tangles of her hair. "It's all right." 

She sighed at his touch, relaxing under his hands. "God... what I put you through---" 

"You're the victim far more than I, my lady." He removed his hands from her hair; without being asked, she leaned forward and let the tub's 'cyclers rinse away the soap. He got his arm under her shoulders in front, supporting her. 

When her hair was clean, she leaned back against him, cuddling into his offered embrace, putting her hands on his arms to pull them tight around her. He leaned back against the cool tile wall of the tub and let himself relax. 

"Who was it?" she asked softly. 

He blinked. "Eh?" 

He felt her smile. "You've never locked me up before... and I felt... I felt you thinking about..." She shook her head sadly. "The mind-link doesn't work so well when I'm... not rational." She shrugged. "Anyway, I knew there was someone else here." 

He kissed her temple. "You're right--- it was Admiral Aks. He wanted to see... what happened to us." 

"And he knew to come here?" 

He shrugged. "Someone would have had to know where to reach us." 

"You mean if everything had gone as you planned and we'd led the revolution together." She looked back at him. "I keep failing you, Derek... I don't know why you tolerate me---" 

He stopped her words with a gentle kiss. _Because I have no one else. I never have._ There was time when he'd have died before admitting that to her. Now it seemed the only gift he could possibly give her. 

The kiss ended, and she drew back. "I'm even sorrier, then." She touched his face. "Oh, Derek---" 

"No apologies needed." He caught her hand in his. "Rest." 

And she leaned back down against him, and they cuddled peacefully for perhaps another moment... until she began to struggle and thrash again.   
  


*****   
  


Apparently, whatever Aks said to Dion wasn't enough. Within the month, His Majesty's private barge came dropping out of hyperspace. 

This time, mindful of her prior hysterics, Sagan took the precaution of chaining her to a wall, upright so that she couldn't choke. She spat and scratched at him, and called him every name in the book--- plus a few she invented herself--- as he locked the door behind him. 

Dion was harder to get rid of than Aks had been; he insisted on actually _seeing_ Maigrey before he'd leave them in peace. The boy had never really trusted Sagan, especially where Maigrey was concerned. Before they'd come here, Sagan had taken a certain grim amusement in the Freudian implications of the boy's attitude and behavior. 

Now he was simply grateful when Dion, after a moment of watching Maigrey's animal struggles and curses through a one-way glass, abruptly announced his intention to depart. 

Weak, like his father and uncle. He'd lay odds that the boy wouldn't have the courage to see such a thing through even for someone he loved. 

But then... Sagan himself was hardly much better. _He_ lacked the courage to give her the release she deserved... and endure the rest of his life alone.   
  


*****   
  


This time when he opened the cellar door, it was quiet. 

Maigrey hung on the wall, silent, unnaturally still, watching him through fever-bright eyes. 

Warily, suspecting some new trick, he went to her. 

"Derek...." Her voice was a purr. "Oh, _Derek_... you've got me at your mercy, don't you?" She twisted in the chains, not to escape, it seemed, but rather to display her body, barely concealed by the thin cloth of the caftan. 

"You could keep me here, you know," she told him, her voice breathy and vague. "You could _use_me... any way you liked...." 

The chains rattled as she twisted and writhed, in an orgy of sensual need. 

And, God help him... he responded. 

He'd always held a firm rein on his desires where she was concerned. When she'd first entered adolescence, she'd latched onto him--- _him_, for the love of God--- as her first object of desire. Older by far than she, he'd had to use every scrap of self-control not to respond to her clumsily earnest overtures until she was old enough. 

They'd had a few years to enjoy each other... then he'd formed the Golden Squadron and she'd been under his command... which required a new kind of self-control on his part. 

And then their time together on _Phoenix_... which had been in some ways the worst. He'd wanted half the time to strangle her... the other half to tear her clothes off and claim her for his. And the worst of it was that sometimes he couldn't separate the two. 

And now... now she was offering him licence to take any pleasures he wanted.... 

She wasn't in her right mind. He had to remember that. 

"One of us," he said quietly, "ought to retain some vestige of civilization." 

And, ignoring her shrieked protests and curses, he unlocked the cuffs. 

She fell at his feet when he let her go, dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around his legs... and _begged_ then, shamelessly... for acts that made his face grow hot to contemplate. 

The worst of it was, his shame couldn't outstrip his desire. 

But his control handled both. He pushed her away and turned on his heel in silence. 

This was the worst torment yet. 

This time, her shrill cries almost made him laugh with pure relief. "Eunuch!" she screamed after him. "You're not man enough for me--- you never were!" She spat, almost frothing at the mouth. "You weren't man enough to take me for yours on _Phoenix_--- you let that sniveling boy stop you from having me--- a real man would have broken that little brat's jaw for getting in our way---" She snarled, spat again. "Maybe you were just afraid to try to claim me--- afraid you wouldn't be man enough to satisfy me---" And more in that vein, growing increasingly descriptive of his imagined sexual dysfunction. 

Her insults were preferable to her hysterical seduction... and he could only wish they were true. A eunuch could have endured her torments with far more equanimity.   
  


*****   
  


The third visitor was Dixter--- less than a week later, and nearly as hysterical as Maigrey. It was _almost_ amusing. 

This time, Maigrey submitted to being chained with an abject and sensuous surrender far worse than her earlier struggles. The last week had been a torture for him--- every time he touched her, she went limp and yielding and begged him in the most graphic terms possible to take her and use her for his pleasure. Bathing her was a torment and he barely slept at all. 

Because, God help him, he _wanted_ to give her exactly what she asked for. 

During her lucid moments, she was unusually quiet, just leaning against him in abject silence. He assumed she was ashamed of this latest round of demands; he took special pains to cuddle her and soothe her. 

Never mind that the close intimate contact made his own responses worse when she frenzied again. 

It was a kind of relief to leave her locked in the cellar and deal with Dixter's hysterical accusations. 

"What have you done with her---" were Dixter's first words on stepping out of his ship. 

Sagan held up a hand. "Stop right there." He put some of the power of the Blood Royal behind it, and had the satisfaction of seeing his would-be rival stop dead in his tracks. 

Sagan never could have done that while Maigrey was alive, was herself. She'd have never forgiven him. 

Dixter glared at him. Sagan stared back, coolly. "You understand what the serpent's tooth does?" 

The blood drained from the man's face. "Dear God." 

Sagan glared at him. "You mean, you didn't know what had happened? I told Aks---" 

"Who told me nothing." Par for the course; Aks had never liked Dixter--- one of the rather soul-soothing traits of the admiral's. "And Dion--- His Majesty--- said nothing." 

Sagan shrugged. "Now you know." He turned, heading back to the house. 

"Can I--- see her?" 

Sagan looked back. "You know what the serpent's tooth does to its victims." He couldn't resist a parting barb. "_You_ have the luxury of remembering her as she was--- enjoy it." 

He left Dixter standing on the landing pad. 

But he waited until the ship lifted off to go to Maigrey.   
  


*****   
  


She was waiting for him, unusually patient, when he unlocked the door. 

Her eyes were wide and febrile and hungry on him as she hung from her chains. "That was Dixter, wasn't it?" she asked breathlessly. 

"And what if it was?" He came and stood beside her. 

"You should have let him see me---" She writhed a little, seductively. "Let him take a good look--- I bet you'd have _loved_the expression on his face, wouldn't you? To watch him _suf-fer...._" She licked her lips. "You liked torturing him yourself, didn't you? I always wondered why you didn't just get rid of him--- rid yourself of a rival---" 

He forced himself to shake his head. "Perhaps I gave you credit for better taste than that." 

She lowered her eyelids, acknowledging the riposte. Then her eyes on his went suddenly cold, crafty. "Maybe _he_ would have... appreciated... what I'm offering--- maybe _he'd_ find a use for me---" She writhed, scissoring her legs as much as the chains holding her ankles apart would allow. 

For a moment, Sagan saw red, a violent surge of bitter jealousy and helpless frustration. He drew back his hand--- 

And Maigrey laughed. 

"Come on," she taunted. "Hit me--- go ahead. You _know_ you want to." Her voice dropped to a pleading whisper. "You could take out all your tension... just let it spill into me...." She twisted violently. "Do everything you've always wanted---" She arched up toward him in blatant invitation. "Oh, Derek--- _please---_" 

He swallowed convulsively, as her taunts found the mark. Because, God help him, he'd always wanted, just once, to _take_her, to use his strength against her for his own gratification and to hear her cry out under him--- 

Her eyes were very bright now. "Do you remember," she breathed heavily, "when we were young together... after you became a priest... when you were my confessor---" She licked her lips. "Those penances... they weren't for me, were they, Derek? You just liked to whip me---" 

He spun away from her, violently, his guts clenching with nausea and unwilling lust. Hel eaned one hand against the wall to steady himself. "That was only the once." His voice was a harsh whisper. Only the once... when he'd given into a dark and secret longing, a nightmare fantasy, and taken the lash to her in the guise of a penance for some slight fault. 

She'd never once cried out, taking the blows to her bare back without a murmur. He'd stopped long before he wanted to... and then spent the night on his knees in his own penance. And he'd never done it again... except in his dreams. 

"Oh, I remember," she crooned. "I remember how I wanted to beg for more with every stroke--- how I wanted to stay on my knees and take your cock in my mouth while you whipped me---" She twisted in her bonds, throwing her head back, at once defiant and pleading. "Don't you think I ought to be punished, Derek? For everything I've done to you---" She gasped, half-sobbed. "Oh, Derek... I _need_ to be punished---" 

It was too much. He couldn't bear it any longer. He turned and flung himself on her, roughly, pinned her body against the wall and rubbed against her while his mouth crushed hers. 

She kissed him back and moved against him greedily, her mind a hot tangle of pleasure and anticipation.... 

The heat was at once soothing and stimulating... and no longer painful--- to _either_ of them. For once, they both had a little relief from the constant torment of their life together. 

For once, he could vent his own deep-buried needs and the gut-wrenching tension of a life lived in selfless pain, his own feelings pushed aside into a kind of numb ache. 

It was just like his childhood... except now he could have something for himself. Some kind of relief... of _pleasure_.... 

Their bodies rubbed together urgently, with animal abandon and not a shred of technique or even care. He broke the kiss roughly, took her face in his hands, then ran his hands down along her body, eliciting shrill cries of pleasure. She arched against him, spreading her legs wider and thrusting her hips toward him, obscene invitation. "Please, Derek, please---" 

His erection was painfully hard; he unzipped his pants, thrust into her urgently, felt the slick long muscles inside her grab and hold him greedily, contracting and releasing convulsively. 

Her shrill cries were a dark delicious counterpoint to his pleasure as he thrust inside her and brought them both to a blindly brilliant explosion. 

For a long moment after that hot rush of pleasure, his mind went blank and he could only lean against the welcome softness of her and try to breathe. 

With the slowing of his heart came sanity... and remorse. He pushed himself off her and withdrew, gently. "Maigrey---" 

The eyes that rose to meet his were still fevered... but the fire was banked; gradually, it faded until she was lucid. "Oh, Derek," she whispered, her voice breathless and relieved, "thank you."   
  


*****   
  


He got her down from the chains and carried her up to their bed; she was lucid the whole time, which bordered on the miraculous--- it was the longest she'd been sane since this started. "I'm sorry, Maigrey," he murmured, as he set her down on the bed. 

She reached up, pulled him down against her--- sweet, familiar embrace and wholly sane. "No--- no, Derek, you mustn't be." He yielded to her arms and let her bring him down against her in the bed, lay next to her, his body and mind both still shaken by the release and what it meant. 

She put her head against his neck, cuddling close; automatically, he put his arms around her. "That's better," she murmured. 

"Better?" he asked softly. "After what I just did to you---" 

"_For_ me," she corrected gently. "I needed it--- God help me, I've always needed it." 

That set him back a pace. "What---" 

She laughed; he could hear the embarrassment in it. "That's what I've always wanted, Derek... to make you lose control that way--- to have you so ravenous for me that you couldn't stop yourself---" She looked up at him. "That's the way I've always felt about you--- half the time, the only thing that stopped me from throwing myself at you was knowing you'd never touch me again if I did something so wanton." 

He rubbed the back of her head, fingers massaging gently, tangling in the soft pale hair. "Oh, I'd have forgiven you, I think." Sardonic understatement. He kissed her head. "This was when we were younger, yes?" 

"And on _Phoenix_." Her voice was a whisper. "I was furious with you... but, oh, God--- if you'd once offered me your body instead of mere power... I'd have been yours for the taking." 

He swallowed hard at the sudden lightning flash of desire her words called up. "Dear God---" 

"That wasn't all," she murmured, hiding her face in his chest. "God help me...." She was silent for a long moment, during which he simply rubbed her hair and neck and tried to wrap his mind around the notion that _his_ frenzy had pleased her--- _her_ and not merely the madwoman who inhabited her body. 

Her next words shook him to the core. "I wanted you to punish me. Not just after the revolution, either." 

He tensed, jerked back, then forced himself to relax. "What?" 

Her smile against his chest was bitter. "I--- it wasn't just the poison talking when I said I loved it, the one time you whipped me." 

"Dear Creator." His voice was harsh with shock. 

"Can you forgive me?" she whispered. "I knew it was a sin... but, God, I almost cried when you stopped. I wanted to beg you---" 

He pushed her back, roughly, to see her eyes; they were clear, cool and conscious on his. Her mind through the bond was cool and rational as well. Not the poison talking but her own desires that were the complement of his. 

She smiled sadly. "Yes, Derek... it's me talking. I was a madwoman long before the poison, I suppose---" 

"Then I'm as mad as you are." His voice was hoarse, coming around a lump in his throat. He drew her back to him, clasped her close, folding his arms around her. "God help us both." 

She kissed his shoulder, her lips cool, trembling against his skin. "Can you forgive me?" 

"Of course--- yes---" He drew her back so that he could kiss her, his mouth locking close and tender on hers. She molded herself to him as her tongue sought his mouth. 

When they finally broke, both were gasping. She reached up and slipped a hand into his hair, finger-combing the tangles in a lovely, comforting caress. 

He leaned down, rested his head on her shoulder, and let himself relax into her ministrations. It seemed to calm them both. 

A thought occurred to him. "This is the longest you've been... lucid... since you were poisoned." 

Maigrey drew a deep breath. "I know." She rubbed her cheek against his. "I think... it might have something to do with...." She looked up at him. 

"With our... coupling." 

She nodded, then her face flushed. "Derek... I know what it did to you to treat me like that---" 

He caught the guilt and remorse in her mind... realized she understood only half of it. "Do you?" he whispered, deliberately seductive, bending to brush his lips along the sensitive skin of her ear. 

She laughed, a relieved and almost giddy sound, and twined her fingers tightly in his hair. "Oh, Derek---" She drew back to look at him. "Then you wouldn't mind... if we---" 

"If we indulge each other's darker fantasies?" he asked. "No... no, I wouldn't." 

He lived to regret those words... even as he reveled in the results.   
  


*****   
  


Maigrey hadn't been lying when she said she enjoyed the whip. No sooner had the febrile light come back into her eyes then she was begging him to strike her. Down on her knees, in front of him, pleading in gutter language to be punished. 

And... God help him... he indulged her. 

He had a whip here, along with the other artifacts of his religion, in an altar behind a sealed door. He made her wait, on her knees, while he got it from its hiding place. 

A sin, perhaps, to use for pleasure a whip meant for penance. But less a sin, he thought, than the one he'd committed in his vision of her death. 

Perhaps he simply couldn't escape blasphemy no matter what he did. 

But, God help him, he wasn't about to deny her this. Or himself. 

She was kneeling where he'd left her when he returned, naked and helpless, trembling a little, her eyes tracking eagerly on him as he came toward her. "Oh, Derek, please---" 

"Hush," he said gently to her. "Hush." 

And raised the whip--- brought it down on her back. 

Her soft little cry was almost as arousing as the bright red line flaring on her flesh. Not breaking the skin--- just that thin red stripe across her back where the blood rushed to the surface. 

He was careful to avoid her spine and neck... but the soft sensitive flesh near her sides was fair game. He knew enough about using a whip to control how the blows landed, sometimes just flicking the tip across tender skin, other times scoring angry red lines down her back. Never breaking the skin--- he knew from his experience as a child how long _that_ took to heal. He didn't want to do her harm... just pleasure them both. 

She mewled like a cat and cried at the blows... and, God help him... he loved every minute of it. Loved her cries and her pleading and the sight of her flesh rendered red and tender by the whip. He'd have liked to stroke his thumbs gently down that sore skin, a simple caress made far more potent for them both by the sensitivity of her skin where he'd hit her. 

He stayed close to her mind, the link wide open, while he did it--- both for her sake, her safety... and because of the sensual pleasure it gave him to feel what she did--- both the pain itself and her enjoyment of it. 

Because it was a pleasure he could understand. The only pleasure he remembered from his childhood. Punishment was the only time he got noticed, and he'd learned to enjoy it. He could only too easily understand her abject delight in the blows of the whip down her back. 

Her mind through the link was clearer than it had been since before the poison, almost pellucid, and shining.... And down the link he could see what else she wanted from him. 

He brought the whip down hard, let the end trail down her back, licked his lips at her soft sensual shiver. "Stay there." His voice rasped, harsh. 

She nodded, very still except for her quivers. 

He came around in front of her. "Put your hands behind your back." 

Her eyes flared wide with delight under the fever-haze. She did as he told her, thrusting her breasts out a little. 

He chuckled, knowing she'd like the sound. "Very good." 

He raised the whip... and, very carefully, brought it down, under tight control. 

The tip snapped lightly over one of her pale pink, erect nipples, just brushing the sensitive flesh in a needle-sharp caress. "Oh!" Her eyes half-closed in pleasure. "Ohhhhhh...." Her lips were trembling. 

"Stay still." He brought the whip snapping out past the other nipple, and she cried out. 

"More... oh, please, more---" Her fever-bright eyes were wide and wild on him, begging desperately. 

He chuckled again. "Not yet---" He dropped to his knees beside her, began rubbing her nipples, just gently enough to soothe, not light enough to tease. "Let the pain fade a little--- there---" 

She panted desperately as he got to his feet, flicked her nipples with the whip again. Then knelt beside her to caress and soothe... and repeat, again and again.... 

Dear God, what sweet refinement of cruelty! He was half-mad with desire himself. 

When her breasts were finally too sore to be soothed into readiness for another blow, he dropped to his knees beside her and took her nipples in his mouth, one at a time, sucking, licking, laving the sensitive skin while she whined incoherently and writhed against him, so hard he had to hold her still. 

"Oh, Derek... now, please now...." She parted her knees invitingly, arching backward. 

The invitation was too much for him to take; he took her in his arms and pulled her across his lap. 

She straddled his legs eagerly, and brought him inside her and pulled him down on top of her--- never mind the stripes on her back from shoulders to hips--- and writhed under him delightedly while he thrust into her with deliberate abandon. 

The climax this time was even better, for both of them. 

She drowsed under him after they finished, her mind peaceful and quiet, a delightful contented hum such as he'd heard from her only a few times before... and most of those here on this world.... 

Sagan, meanwhile, found that the aftermath of release brought with it cold, bitter reason. 

They'd taken no precautions against conceiving a child. And Maigrey, in her present state, could hardly be allowed near an infant! 

Dear God... it would be the ultimate penance... the ultimate irony.... 

He rolled off her, eliciting a sleepy murmur of protest, then gathered her up in his arms. She curled against him, childlike, slight flicker of the sullen heat in her mind... but not enough to rouse the frenzy. "Derek... y're so... good... t' me...." And she buried her face in his shoulder. 

His hand on her back felt the hot redness he'd left. He kissed her hair. "And you to me... little wildcat." His old pet name for her, that he hadn't used in years. It seemed appropriate now. 

He carried her down to the medical unit; she half roused when she realized he wasn't simply taking her to bed. "Derek?" Her voice was fever-harsh. "What are you doing?" 

He couldn't tell her the truth, not when she was building to frenzy... not with the sullen heat in his mind growing steadily stronger. "I'm just going to take care of your little love-marks," he said instead, rubbing her back suggestively. And, at her half-formed protest, "You wouldn't want to have to stop for a few days until your back heals, would you? Not to mention---" He looked significantly at the red marks on her breasts. 

"Oh, all right." She subsided into his arms. 

Once in the med-unit, he got her settled in one of the scan-chairs, unobtrusively set the house med-program to run tests on her while he made a show of tending to her back... and her breasts. Both sets of ministrations got a delighted response from her, such that they ended up on the floor together. 

This time she really did sleep--- utterly peaceful, no sign of fever--- afterwards... while he got to his feet and studied the med-unit's output. 

He got a pleasant surprise: one of the effects of the poison was sterility. Her endocrine balance had shifted such that she no longer cycled; further, her body could no longer carry a child to term: the embryo simply wouldn't attach to the uterine lining. 

Which was more detail than he'd have wanted to know... under any circumstances but these. Now... he _needed_ to know, as awkward as it was. 

Well... having been mind-linked to a young woman in the throes of puberty, he knew rather more about female physiology than he wanted to. Getting squeamish now could do them both a good deal of harm. 

It made him wonder, though, exactly what other changes the poison had made. Certainly, she seemed more peaceful after they... coupled--- he could hardly call it making love--- but they'd only been together twice; that was hardly a statistical universe. 

He pulled up the rest of the unit's findings. Asked for elaboration. 

And looked down at the sleeping woman at his feet. 

And smiled. 

It was hardly a cure--- an empirical treatment for symptoms at best. But it would keep her calm... not to mention satisfied. 

Part of the poison's effect focused on the nervous system--- a change in nerve pathways, much like the psychedelics popular in the late twentieth century. The effect was basically an elimination of the superego--- the id was given free rein, all the mind's darkest desires set free with no socialized controls, no guilt or shame. 

It gave him more than a moment's pause... to think that everything she'd done, every nightmare she'd inflicted on them both... had always been a part of her. Buried, yes, beneath honor and pride and a self-control that he was only beginning to realize might be the equal of his... but nonetheless always a part of the woman he loved. 

And it made him grateful, at once selfishly and selflessly, that she had been the one cut... and not him. His own dark side, his own violent needs, were far less well controlled than hers. And he'd be harder to restrain, physically. She couldn't have held him down alone. 

He forced his mind back to business. The changes to the neural pathways couldn't be fixed. 

But the poison also worked on the endocrine system... which _could_ be kept in check. Her thyroxin levels were violently elevated--- the culprit of the sleeplessness, the heat, the goiter, the heightened metabolism, and the worst of the insane rages. Thyroxin-suppression therapy... wouldn't make her _sane_, not with the channels in her mind periodically "flashing-back" to the id-dominant configuration the poison had imposed... but it would give her some relief. 

And, as for the rest... she'd hit on it herself. Literally _hit._ The pain she craved so intensely raised her endorphin levels... and endorphin was a natural opiate. The beatings would actually serve to give her some surcease from the frenzy, as her body's natural drugs flooded her system and calmed her. 

Endorphins. There had to be a synthetic version--- and not one with opium's unfortunate tendency to inhibit natural endorphins. And, God help them both, _not_ something addictive.... 

_That_ would take some searching. Endorphins were a natural drug, after all; any substitute ran the risk of addiction. But the thyroxin-inhibitors were readily available, and not addictive at all. That part he could start immediately. 

He tapped in a sequence of commands at the console. One of the dispensers released a hypo. 

He moved over to Maigrey's side, uncapped the needle and pressed it to her arm. She twitched, coming awake--- 

"Hush," he said gently. "All part of the healing process." 

Which it was, though not the way she took it. He'd have to inject her with the thyroxin-inhibitors at least once a day... which he could easily explain to her when she was lucid. Along with the rest of it. 

And there was a _very_ good way to bring her around to lucidity... and ensure that she stayed that way long enough to talk. He scooped her up in his arms. "Let's go back to bed, yes?" 

She buried her face in his shoulder. 

And, for the first time since he'd come out of her nightmare poison dream on that barren rock, she spoke to him through the mind-link. _Yes._

He sighed in contentment. 

And promised himself they'd find a solution.   
  


*****   
  


Much later, they curled together in bed, avoiding each other's wounds. This time she hadn't been content to take pain without giving it. 

Which was really perfect, as far as he was concerned. He liked it at least as much as she did. Certainly he'd had far more experience with it. 

But for now she was calm in his arms; relaxed and happy even. Time to put aside his own selfish lusts and make her even happier. 

"Maigrey---" 

"Mmmm?" Pleased little murmur as she cuddled into his arms. 

He stroked her hair. "Pay attention." His voice was gentle, but she looked up immediately. "I think I've found something that can... help---" 

She laughed, rubbed against him. "I thought we'd already _done_ that." 

Automatically, he checked her mind for fever, but she was cool and calm, lucid... and quite sensually contented. "Something _else_," he said sternly. 

She looked up at him, all sober attention. "Tell me." 

He explained about the thyroxin levels... told her, grateful for the dark that meant he didn't have to face her, that he'd already given her the first injection. 

She laughed gently and stroked his face. "What's to be sorry for?" she asked. "You're taking care of me... like you promised to." 

Like he'd promised to... his hands stroked the red marks down her back, gently. He'd hadn't promised... _that_. "There's more." He told her about the endorphin levels. "We don't have a suitable synthetic--- not anything that isn't wildly addictive---but perhaps there's a way to stimulate endorphin production---" 

Maigrey rubbed herself against him. "Of course there is--- we just _did_ it---" She ran a hand over the scratches she'd left on _his_ back. 

He bit back a moan at the pleasure-pain. "I mean... something a little more clinical---" 

She pressed closer. "And what if I prefer the old-fashioned way?" 

The world went blank; he was all dizzy shock and animal hunger. He came back to himself after a moment, licked his dry lips. "You... prefer... being--- being hurt?" he managed. 

"Yes. Wouldn't you?" Maigrey's tone was no-nonsense, matter-of-fact. 

He swallowed hard. "We're not discussing me." 

"We're discussing us." She pushed back from him a little. "Can you stand to do that to me--- as often as I need it?" 

He swallowed again, convulsively; his throat felt hot, tight. "I... can always give you whatever you need." The only safe answer, now. 

She chuckled softly. "Then... give me that. All right?" 

He looked down at her, hardly able to believe that it could be so simple. 

The kind of pleasure-pain he'd always wanted to share with her... could be what she needed. Could let her have some sanity, some real joy out of life. 

It was more than he'd dared hope. That something he'd wanted, so selfishly... could give her something even more valuable. 

"All right," he said softly. "If that's what you want." He kissed her forehead. 

She pulled his face down to hers. "It is." 

And kissed him. 

They didn't sleep for a while after that--- slow, hungry loving, deep and greedy and satisfying. 

On the edge of a deeply sated sleep, he thought that now it might be possible to bring back some of the things he'd found for her. The weapons were still out of the question... but perhaps the books at least. Dickens, her favorite.... That should please her. 

That was all he wanted.   
  


*****   
  


For a long time afterward, Maigrey lay awake beside him, stroking his hair gently and reveling in the luxury of sanity and calm. 

And thinking that this had worked out more perfectly than she could have asked. 

Dealing with her under the serpent's tooth had been the worst penance she could have devised for him. And life as a madwoman was an appropriate punishment for her.... 

For a woman who'd do such a thing to the one man she'd ever really loved. 

It was more of a punishment than she'd anticipated, actually. She'd rather imagined, when she accepted Derek's offer, that he'd have had better success at keeping her under control. 

Well, she'd always had a tendency to ascribe godlike powers to him. And it would be like him to punish her right back.... 

No... that wasn't fair. He'd been a saint, the way he'd treated her these last months. More patient than anyone human could be. Perhaps she was right in thinking him a god... at least a little. 

And she was ever _so_ glad that he'd found a way of relieving his... tensions... not least because _she'd_ enjoyed the whip as well. _And_ everything that came with it. 

Which she'd get now. As much as she wanted. 

And in between there would be moments of quiet peace and closeness. 

She had him... all to herself, focused on her completely. And she had the perfect excuse to get all the sex she wanted from him. 

She sighed to herself. Id-dominant, he'd called it--- all her deepest lusts and animal cravings brought to the fore, with no restrictions. It frightened her to think that some of the things she'd done had been things she'd have _wanted_.... 

But none of the fear had to do with having Derek. She'd always known _that_ about herself. She was so completely keyed to him at a sexual level--- she'd never really thought about another man. 

And with Derek... she'd thought about _everything_. There was nothing she wouldn't have let him do... as long as he did it _often_. Her id had _always_ been more than a little dominant where her responses to him were concerned. 

And now she had an excuse to indulge herself... and him. The thyroxin-inhibitors ought to keep her from engaging in the kind of true abominations that made her ill to contemplate... and for the rest she had Derek... and the whip. 

She stretched herself out against him, feeling the coarse black hair of his chest brush against her still-sensitive nipples. 

In the end, this was... no sacrifice at all. 

For either of them. 


End file.
